The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  “Could you please pray that my mother and brother will get out safe?”

  “Oh, honey, of course! We are already praying that no one will be lost to this fire!” She put her arm around me, pulling me into their little circle. As they prayed, I felt like I was in a new world. Did people really talk to God like this? So familiarly? Like they knew Him? It made me a little nervous because I wasn’t sure God would like it. If He didn’t like it, would He punish us for doing it?

  I dropped the blanket because it was turning to ice. I unzipped my coat and tried to get it around Jesse to keep him as warm as I could. Mrs. Powell must have opened her eyes while her husband continued praying, because suddenly she was wrapping a thick scarf around me and Jesse. For some reason, this brought fresh tears to my already watery, aching eyes. I thanked her silently and she nodded with understanding.

  When Mr. Powell said, “Amen!” I thanked them quickly and hurried off to see if Mom and Richard had emerged from the building yet. As I walked, I covered Jesse’s head in kisses. I was sorry for my earlier anger. Standing there, bouncing him in my arms, I stood and waited helplessly, watching for mom and Richard to be among the survivors who were stumbling out of the building. I couldn’t have kept still even if I hadn’t been holding him because my nerves were so taut.

  Suddenly there were sharp voices. Someone was saying, “This is your d---- fault!” but I didn’t even turn to look to see whose fault it was. My eyes were fixed on the double doors leading to the main entryway and then the stairs. I hardly ever think about how much I love my family but at that moment, standing there, not knowing if they were going to emerge alive, I felt a terrible deep love—even for Richard. I felt something people don’t often talk about—that love hurts. But it does. It did while I stood there waiting. Because love is mixed with worry and fear. You can always lose the ones you love.

  And then Mom and Richard stumbled out. I ran to them, crying with relief. After a minute of coughing and catching her breath, mom took Jesse from me. He had upped the tempo of his wails the moment he saw her. It was then that I noticed my arm was stinging and my eyes and throat were deeply sore.

  LATER

  We are now at the library along with most of the displaced residents of our building. We don’t know for sure if everyone was home, so we can’t tell if anyone was left inside. Anyway, those of us who got out are still in shock. At least, I am.

  Richard found out that someone was trying to heat their apartment with a fire in a bucket and it got out of hand.

  “Idiots!” he’d spat out. “You can do everything right but all it takes is one idiot and here we are without a home.”

  There’d been no fire department to the rescue because there was no way to contact a fire department. And even if there was a way to contact them, they wouldn’t have a truck that worked. I pictured our building burning inside, like a furnace. Here we were, cold and miserable, and there it was, too hot and out of control to be of any use. I imagined the flames licking up all our possessions. First we’d lost power, the use of any and all appliances. We’d lost transportation. We’d lost my father, for all I knew. Now we’d lost everything else.

  So Richard is still fuming and mom seems numb, falling back into a scary silence. She continues to care for Jesse, but she’s doing it robotically, without emotion, and the baby keeps reaching out to touch her face, as though to ask if she’s still in there.

  I’m sitting here staring at books. We are surrounded by books. Each and every one of them is a reminder of all we’ve lost, because they are books about the world as it was. The normal world. The one we no longer have access to.

  Nevertheless, I am telling myself that I will read each and every one. This is my plan. Since I can no longer create the fantasy that our lives are good, I will read and read and not think about how life has been ruined in a mere, short three days. I will escape from reality, one way or another.

  “At least we’re all safe and alive,” I heard Richard say to Mom. She’d been staring with a stony-faced silence out the window. She must have looked awful for him to actually point out something positive.

  She slowly looked at him. “All? Not all.” She turned back, returning to her abyss of dark thoughts.

  A man from our building was walking past but he stopped. “You’re all safe and alive?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, how long do you think that’s gonna last?” he asked. I said nothing. How could he say such a thing? I turned to show Richard my exasperation but he nodded his head.

  “He’s right.”

  I started reviewing the morning, how quickly we’d been thrust out of our home. When all the residents of the building—as far as anyone could tell—were outside, a number of people discussed our options, what we should do. That’s how we ended up here at the library.

  During the walk across town, which we did in a long, slow-moving line, I looked around at the others. Like Mrs. Murfree, I knew some by name and many more by sight, but we’d never gotten to really know our neighbors. Not more than enough to exchange a nod or greeting in passing. I’d seen some of them on the elevator or when I’d stopped to empty our mailbox in the foyer but that was all the contact I’d had. The Powells had been friendlier than most, especially Mrs. Powell, but even them I only knew superficially.

  I figured that was about to change.

  Anyway, the library was chosen as a place of refuge for two reasons. One, it’s a public facility, and two, it’s a restored nineteenth century building and someone remembered it has actual working fireplaces. I’d forgotten about them. Guess I don’t go to the library enough. I do recall that every Christmas it held a Charles Dickens night, and the fireplace was bright with burning logs. I hoped all the old fireplaces would work.

  Many kids were crying and even a few adults by the time we arrived. Lots of us thought we had frostbite in our feet. Mine have stopped burning and tingling, so I think they’re okay.

  The building has three stories but so far we are all mingling in the biggest first floor room because of that fireplace. Nobody knows anything about an emergency shelter—I can hardly believe it. What kind of government do we have, anyway? Aren’t they supposed to be ready for something like this? Isn’t every town supposed to have an emergency shelter?

  I heard some people saying they would be returning to the apartment building because they still had food there. Mom managed to fill her tote bag before Richard forced her out but it’s still a pathetic amount of food, all in all.

  When it’s safe to go back, I hope Richard will. He can get whatever food survived the flames, if any, and maybe some of our clothing and other stuff.

  I honestly don’t know how we’re supposed to get by. I don’t have a single change of clothing. I have a hairbrush in my purse, makeup, my useless cell phone, a container of floss, some change, my bus pass and school ID and one pack of gum. Plus my journal and a few pens. We ate the protein bar on the way over. All in all, NOTHING to help us survive!

  I took out the cell phone and opened it up. I don’t know why. Richard saw me doing it and said, “Why are you wasting your time? It’s dead, Sarah. Even if by some miracle power was restored, you’d need a new cell phone. That one’s fried.”

  I just quietly put it back in my purse, even though Richard shook his head at me like I’m hopeless. I can’t bring myself to throw it away. I’m glad I stuffed my journal and pens in my handbag, too, or I couldn’t be writing this.

  When we arrived here, bedraggled and cold and tired, the apartment Super stood at the door, studying every face and nodding us to pass. I wondered why—and then he stopped a lady, and said, “Not you. You’re not from our building.”

  She just stared at him. She looked like a homeless lady, to be honest. Someone said, “Hey, it IS a public building.”

  The Super, Mr. Aronoff, said, “Not today.”

  The lady shuffled off. I felt sorry for her. After that, he stopped a few more people for the same reason. Those of us who were allowe
d in rushed inside like it was going to be a haven, a refuge. But it was cold and dark when we got here just like everywhere else.

  But now there’s a big fire in the main fireplace, and someone brought a commercial size box of hotdogs, so we’re all getting to eat.

  EVENING

  So now we’ve staked our claim, so to speak, as everyone is doing. I found a nice little corner near a window (for light) but not too close (because of the cold). Every time you turn into an aisle between the stacks, you find a family camped out, sitting on a pile of blankets, or just cross-legged, sitting against the books. I wish I had my blanket. Richard kept his and mom’s, despite their being wet.

  We threw them over the chairs to dry and when they’re dry we’ll lay them on the floor, but I don’t see us getting comfortable here. The chairs were going fast so Richard and I dragged a few to our spot and tried to make a small circle. The walls of books give us a sense of privacy.

  Overall today was a disaster upon disaster, but something good happened. (If you can call it good.) Richard disappeared shortly after we settled in our corner. When he showed up again, his pockets and hoodie were full of wrapped snacks. It was a God-send, because I had been sitting there fretting over our lack of food. Sure, Mom had stuffed a lot of cans into her tote bag, but she forgot the can opener. All we’d eaten all day was breakfast and a hot dog.

  So Richard found a small kitchen in the basement which must have been for maintenance men or something; by some miracle he was the first one to happen upon it. He found a quart of milk, half-frozen, in the fridge. And there were individually wrapped cheese and crackers and beef sticks. It’s almost real food. He emptied everything from his pockets and hoodie and was going back to get more but mom said, “Richard.” He looked at her. My mother’s eyes are sad.

  “Leave some for the others.”

  “Mom, a lot of these people are saying they have a lot of food back at the building. We don’t.”

  Mom thought for a moment. “Today would have been payday. I’d have gone shopping to restock.”

  “But it isn’t, and we can’t go shopping,” he said.

  “I brought some food,” she pointed out, nodding towards the tote bag.

  “How long will it last?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. “IF we can even find a can opener.”

  “When you go back, look for one,” she said. And that seemed to settle it. Mom hadn’t said, “IF you go back.” She said, “WHEN you go back.” So Richard took off.

  He came back with his hood and pockets full again, but someone saw him leaving the kitchen so he knows his secret is out.

  I feel guilty that he took so much, but I’m also thankful for it. Was it right or wrong for us to grab a lot for ourselves? I don’t know what to feel anymore.

  And he did find a can opener.

  SARAH

  JANUARY 14

  DAY FOUR

  Last night once the fire was going well, it got almost cozy in here. The sheer number of us in the building is adding to the warmth. There’s a slight odor of something foul—probably a child’s dirty diaper, but I can live with that. What I’m having trouble living with is that I saw HIM here. The guy from the stairwell! I guess he does live in the building.

  He still gives me the creeps. He looked at me exactly the same way! He’s a bad man, I can tell. I told Richard about him, so my brother is staying close with me. He goes with me as far as the restroom, too. (We’re using them for now, but they’re going to get gross soon. I don’t know what’ll happen after that. I don’t want to think about it.)

  I didn’t have a candle or a flashlight so I sat near the fire to write. I had to squeeze past a family with small children, explaining that I only needed a few minutes to write in my journal. As I sat there in the mostly darkened room (except for the blaze from the fireplace and a few flashlights here and there) it seemed to me like the whole world had shut down. Four short days ago everything was normal? It feels like a lifetime ago.

  Sometime in the evening, I heard singing. Singing! It was a happy sound. As I listened more closely, I could tell it was a religious song. The chorus said, He lives, He lives, Hallelujah, Jesus Lives! It must have been the Powells. It helped me fall asleep. I was sure I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep between being uncomfortable and worrying about that man being here. But it was a soothing backdrop and I don’t remember lying awake for long.

  “Did you hear the singing last night?” I asked Richard today.

  He nodded. Then shrugged. “People living in dreamland.”

  I’m sitting near our little window for light but it’s another cloudy day that looks like snow is coming.

  Mom and I talked about what would happen if Dad got back to the apartment and no one is there. Richard was quiet while we spoke. He doesn’t believe Dad will ever make it back. He says tomorrow he’ll go to the building and see if the fire’s out. If it is, he’ll leave a note on our door, just in case. Then, when someone else said they were going back for supplies, Richard went with him. He gave me his army knife before he left, saying to keep it nearby. I stared at it in my hand and realized it wouldn’t help me in a million years. I’d be too scared to use it. I wouldn’t even know how to get it open. I’m not very strong. I moved my chair close to Mom and I’m staying right here until he returns.

  Richard’s back. Enough smoke had cleared for him to make it up the stairs to our apartment but the whole place still reeks of fire. The good news is that the worst damage seems to have been contained to the third and fourth floors. The guy who started it all lived on the third floor. The rest of the place just has smoke damage.

  So Richard was able to grab some of our things as well as leave the note for dad.

  He HAS to make it back! But each hour that goes by and he doesn’t show up makes me feel that something terrible has happened to him. Mom says the not knowing is making her crazy.

  SARAH

  JANUARY 15

  DAY FIVE

  If the apartment had a heat source, we’d be returning today. In the middle of the night I felt someone touch me—it was that creepy guy! He’d only touched my arm, but to wake up and see his face was horrifying. I tried to scream but he quickly moved to cover my mouth. I think he’s not right in the head—why else would he have done that in a crowded place? Lucky for me, my brother wasn’t sleeping deeply and he pounced on the guy, shouting for help. Other people quickly came around and the man slunk off. Afterwards, some of the men with families went after him and forced him from the library. I am now in dread of his ever coming back.

  It’s hard to describe how upset I feel—I’m shaking inside even though outwardly you can’t tell. I don’t feel safe. I can’t believe he approached me right near my family. He must be desperate or something. But I want to go home. I’d feel safer there.

  LATER

  I almost freaked when Richard said he was going out with some of the guys to find food. I begged him not to go, but he said, “It’s daytime. You’ll be safe. That creep is gone, and people like him count on darkness because they’re cowards at heart.”

  “Where do you think you’ll find food, anyway?”

  He shrugged, but adjusted his hat and scarf and hurried to join the group that was leaving. He started to give me his knife again but I shuddered and turned away. I asked Mom to make him stay and she said, “I think we’re safe; and we need food.”

  “Why don’t you come with me then,” Richard said, “if you’re worried.” He nodded his head towards the group getting ready to go. “There are other young people like you.” There were a few girls I recognized, but they were seniors in school and we’d never been friends. I shrank back. Besides, I could not see myself out there in this weather, even with Richard. I felt sure if I went I’d either get frostbite or panicked, or both.

  After he’d gone, I suddenly realized I’m in trouble. Real trouble. See, I take a daily anti-depressant. It’s supposed to help me so I don’t have panic attacks, and I guess it does help a little. Bu
t the thing is, I’ve been taking it for months. And aside from what I’ve got left in my prescription (which I keep in my handbag), what will I do when it runs out?

  Somehow I hadn’t thought of this earlier. I asked Mom about it.

  She lifted her head and listened to me and then frowned.

  “We’ll ask Richard to check the pharmacy. Maybe we can get you some. In the meantime,” and she paused here, thinking. “Don’t take it every day. Start taking one every other day. If we can’t get more we’ll have to wean you quickly.”

  Her words filled me with dread. For awhile I sat there crying and worrying. If I’m having panic attacks now, while I have this medicine, what will I be like when I don’t have it? I’m scared.

  I started browsing the shelves for my first escape book when I found a Bible—it’s pristine like nobody ever read it. It’s not a Catholic Bible, but I have no idea if that makes a difference. It’s an ESV translation, which the notes in the beginning explain as “English Standard Version.” I’ll give it a try.

  AFTERNOON

  Richard and the others just got back—with food!!! A lot of it. The nearest Wal-Mart is a mile away, and there were two armed guards in front of it. A group of people were arguing with the guards, trying to reason with them. What good is food on the shelves that’s only going to rot? Why shouldn’t they be allowed to use it when it could save lives, and so on? They were getting nowhere. Richard and our group pretended to leave but they went around the block and eventually found a way to a back entrance.

  I should not be happy that my brother is a thief. But right now that food looks awfully good.